


my baby shot me down

by wyverning



Series: Kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassination Attempt(s), Blowjobs, But not in the way you'd think, Crossdressing, Humor, Kinktober 2018, M/M, borderline ridiculous, completely inappropriate and impractical uses of blood, damen completely underestimating the severity of the situation, laurent and the blue dress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: Instinct kicks in and he finds himself grabbing at the knife that’s aiming for his throat. It’s sharp, if the way it flays his skin as he wraps his palm around the weapon tightly is any indicator, and Damen hisses even as the force of his grip stills the knife’s trajectory.Ah, shit. If Damen survives this, Nik’s going to kill him for letting his guard down.The man — an assassin, Damen supposes — actually looks startled. “What would you do if this was poisoned?”“Well,” Damen says, fingers still enclosed around the blade. They’re starting to sting. “I suppose I would be poisoned.”





	my baby shot me down

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry in advance for this

The blond across the room is positively stunning.

The gala taking place at one of Damen’s various residences is in full swing, and there are several charitable donators that Damen should be conversing with to ensure their full support of Akielos Corporation’s annual holiday drive. Instead, he’s staring at a singular person, feeling as enraptured by the man as half of the ballroom surely is, as well. He's captivating, with long, blond hair done up in a complicated twist of curls and braids and a dress that's borderline indecent.

It’s a dark blue, the fabric half-sheer and clinging to his frame in such a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. For a man to so obviously flaunt an article of clothing like this at a charity gala is a statement in and of itself, and Damen finds himself absolutely intrigued.

The man has to know he’s caught Damen’s attention, but still takes his time before finally, _finally_ approaching Damen.

“Hello,” the blond says, as though he hasn’t noticed Damen’s eyes on him all night.

Damen greets him in a wonderfully-executed facade of nonchalance, suppressing a wince at the telltale prickling at the back of his neck. He can practically _feel_ his security team's judging stares as they watch the exchange. 

He's barely spoken a word beyond the typical exchange of small-talk pleasantries when a well-manicured hand gently touches his arm and the man demurs, "Perhaps we could go somewhere more private." He even goes so far as to flutter his eyelashes like some coy maiden.

It’s almost certainly a ploy, but Damen finds he doesn’t much care. The man fits Damen’s type so perfectly that his attentions can't be anything but intentional. Fortunately for them both, Damen’s not too proud to admit that he’s fallen for it.

The blond hair, the piercing blue eyes, the _dress…_

Whatever favor the man will demand from Damen once they’ve fucked will be a headache, but that’s a problem for a Damen that isn’t half-hard within his suit pants and pleasantly buzzed from the drinks he’s been consuming over the course of the evening.

“I know just the place,” Damen says, splaying a hand on the blond’s lower back as he leads them away from the ballroom and into the more private corridors of the manor. There’s a wing of bedrooms nearby that hardly ever finds use due to its proximity to the busier buildings that’s perfect for a quick tumble like this, and Damen ushers the gorgeous man into one of the rooms.

He’s quick to wind his arms around Damen’s neck as soon as the door is closed behind them, murmuring compliments that settle beneath Damen’s skin like a warm drink on a frigid day.

Damen simply cannot resist any longer: he cups the blond’s cheek within his hand, leaning down to kiss him. It’s soft, almost chaste, as though his partner has suddenly become unbearably shy, but Damen can work with that. He coaxes him with a gentle brush of his hand, content to take as much time as they both need to lose themselves in the pleasure of this. It takes an eternity and yet no time at all before those incredible lips part, and Damen finds himself drowning in the sensation. He’s incredibly distracted by the tongue laying claim to his mouth as though a switch has been flipped within the blond falling apart in his arms, and it’s why Damen _almost_ misses the flash of a weapon from the corner of his eye.

Instinct kicks in and he finds himself grabbing at the knife that’s aiming for his throat. It’s sharp, if the way it flays his skin as he wraps his palm around the weapon tightly is any indicator, and Damen hisses even as the force of his grip stills the knife’s trajectory.

Ah, shit. If Damen survives this, Nik’s going to kill him for letting his guard down.

The man — an _assassin,_ Damen supposes — actually looks startled. “What would you do if this was poisoned?”

“Well,” Damen says, fingers still enclosed around the blade. They’re starting to sting. “I suppose I would be poisoned.”

Some sliced up fingers, even questionably poisoned, are infinitely better than a slit throat, though, and Damen jerks the knife out of his would-be assassin’s hand. Blood pours from his wound as they grapple, flowing freely as he wrenches the assassin's wrist away from his vital parts. His own hands are too slippery with blood to gain purchase on the silky fabric of the blond’s dress, and Damen finds himself grappling with the man as they fight for control over the knife. It’s a messy fight, complete with punches to Damen’s gut and knees to the assassin’s groin, but Damen eventually manages to toss the knife far enough away that neither of them can retrieve it without showing their back to the enemy.

Damen sucks in a breath as he settles his other hand around the man’s throat and presses the advantage, bearing down on him as the assassin’s pulse beats rapidly against his thumb.

“Who sent you?”

There’s a glint of defiance in the man’s eyes despite being caught at a disadvantage without his weapon. “Nobody.”

Damen growls in frustration. This night is _not_ turning out as he expected it to, and he mourns the image of spreading this blond out beneath him and reducing him to a quivering mess for the entirety of the evening. “Tell me. Who sent you?”

“Consider this a personal call,” the blond finally spits. “Retribution for trying to sully Auguste’s reputation by entangling him with your own, Akielos. You don’t deserve even an inch of him.”

“Wait — Auguste _de Vere?_ ” It’s probably bad form to burst into laughter while in the middle of an assassination attempt, but Damen can’t help it. Between the adrenaline pounding through him and the startlingly gorgeous face of his to-be murderer, this situation is completely ridiculous. “Oh, my god. I’m about to get killed over a misunderstanding.”

The assassin falters, then narrows his eyes. “Explain. Now.”

“Auguste and I are _definitely_ not dating,” Damen says quickly.  “Apparently, his dad is super traditional, so we've been  _hanging out,_ which is definitely just code for him secretly moving his stuff into his girlfriend's apartment, who is... also a secret? I don't think we have the time to get into the politics of why his dad thinks it's  _beneath_ him to date a middle-class girl that he's absolutely head over heels for, but that's another issue. Anyway, I know he's been super secretive about it all, but it's because his dad would probably have an aneurysm if he knew that his son was  _living in sin_ with a woman. I promise it's not because we're fucking."

Damen’s not sure if the assassin follows his panicked, too-honest rambling, but he’s not exactly in the best position to be delivering eloquent, articulate speeches. The palm of his injured hand is tacky with blood and beginning to throb from the deep gouges.

This isn’t the first time someone has tried to come after his life, but it’s definitely shaping up to be one of the most _interesting_ occurrences, as the blond frowns, deftly shimmies his way out of Damen’s stronghold, and whips out a cell phone.

Damen watches in disbelief as the assassin flicks through a couple of screens. He doesn’t even seem to care that he’s put himself in a vulnerable position, distracted by a phone just a few feet away from the person he very seriously tried to murder moments ago.

“Auguste,” the man says into his phone a few beats later. “All of this secrecy because of Helena? _Really?_ ”

Presumably, Auguste is the one across the line. He says something inaudible in response, much to the blond’s displeasure. He purses his lips. “We will have words about this, later. I have some business left to take care of.”

The call ends, and then sharp, blue eyes lock with Damen as if challenging him to say something about the exchange that just took place.

Lucky for the assassin, the only thing Damen can think of saying is, “What the hell?”

“It’s possible that I may owe you an apology,” the blond says, a ferociousness to his features and voice that doesn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. “I tend to… lose rationality, when it comes to my brother.”

A moment passes before the words truly register in Damen’s head, bouncing around like they’ve been spoken in a foreign, unidentifiable language.

“You,” Damen says, feeling suddenly dizzy. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s reeling from the new information or the blood loss. “You’re Laurent.”

From what Auguste has told him, his brother, Laurent, is a brutally intelligent, brutally scathing individual who runs a stable out in the country. Auguste has waxed poetic about how Laurent reserves all of his kindness for his horses. There was definitely _no_ mention of him moonlighting as an assassin, which either means he’s incredibly adept at keeping his secondary career under wraps, or he just has a particularly wicked vendetta against Damen.

It’s very, _very_ difficult to reconcile the vague notion of Auguste's brother, the apparent horse whisperer, with the devastatingly beautiful man in front of him, bedecked in a designer gown and strapped with weaponry meant to be embedded in Damen’s body.

“So, are we… good?” Damen asks tentatively, shooting a nervous gaze toward the knife he’d chucked out of arm’s reach just a few minutes prior.

“I no longer have any reason to end your life,” Laurent says calmly, though his next words are belied by a slight flush. “Although, I would not be unopposed to continuing from where we first began.”

This night is officially unreal. Because there’s no way this is actually happening, Damen plays along: “From before or after you tried to stab me to death?”

“Please. I wouldn’t have done something so brutish.” He brings a hand up to Damen’s throat, weaponless this time, and draws a finger over the ridge of his Adam’s Apple.

 _I can’t believe this is turning me on,_ Damen thinks, but then he’s threading a hand through Laurent’s gorgeous hair and putting that mouth to better use.

Kissing Laurent with the truth exposed between them feels like a goddamned religious experience, arcs of pleasure racing down his spine as they embrace. Laurent kisses like he fights, like every scuffle is a fight to the death and requires the dirtiest of methods to persevere, and he's so filthily wanton that Damen can't help but moan into their kiss. It's a stark contrast from the shy, timid approach Laurent had tried while attempting to lure Damen to his death, but this feels so much more  _real_ that Damen desperately has to have him.

He lets their lips part but has no intention of letting Laurent go, after what they've just gone through. Damen allows the fantasies he'd entertained about Laurent from earlier in the evening burst across his imagination, and he sets to positively ruining Laurent with his mouth, hands, cock —

“We should,” Laurent starts, but is interrupted by the way Damen mouths hot kisses against his throat and collarbone. The dress he’s wearing leaves so much pale, delectable skin exposed, and Damen enjoys the way Laurent shudders as he scrapes his teeth against it all. “Ah — _Damianos._ We should… clean up your hand.”

“Mm,” Damen hums thoughtfully, though he has much more pressing concerns than the injury. In fact… He very deliberately presses his injured hand to the curve of Laurent’s ass, grabbing a handful of the taut flesh while simultaneously saturating the fabric with his own blood. “Oh, how inconvenient. Your dress… it’s ruined.”

Laurent looks at him with wide eyes.

They move simultaneously, Laurent tugging at Damen’s button-down with such ferocity that the buttons pop from their thread as Damen shoves the straps of Laurent's dress off his shoulders. The fabric is way too tight across his skin, though, and he can't quite manage to wrestle Laurent out of the clingy dress, which results in a few harried moments of yanking zippers and catching Laurent’s hips with his hands when he’s _finally_ stripped free of the slinky fabric, but they get there. 

Damen ends up on his knees, mouth stuffed with Laurent’s cock as he thrusts overeagerly into the wet heat of Damen’s mouth. Damen finds himself equally as enthusiastic, pleased as can be at such a blatant display of arousal. He hums a satisfied noise as his fingers score bruises into Laurent's hips, throat fucked into rawness. It doesn't take long for Laurent to reach his climax, not at the frantic pace he's chosen, and Damen thrills in the way Laurent bites down on his lower lip, eyes screwed shut in that heady cocktail of pleasure-pain. 

He makes sure to swallow every drop.

It isn't long before Laurent collapses, legs too shaky to keep him upright, and Damen ruts against him desperately like some sort of animal, chasing his own release. It doesn’t take much after that; with the crystal-clear images burned into his mind of Laurent’s expression as he’d reached peak pleasure, and the warm heat of the man himself pressed up against Damen, he quickly jerks himself off into completion.

They lay like that, a disheveled, sweaty pile of limbs with blood-soaked, wrecked clothing, and Damen hasn't felt more content in ages.

“You were far too obvious,” Damen says, carding fingers through his sweaty curls. “With so many eyes on you, how did you expect to leave unnoticed after assassinating the host of the entire party? Did you truly think I wouldn’t put up a struggle at all?”

“Please,” Laurent says, voice entirely even as though he hadn’t been moaning Damen’s name to the heavens merely moments before. “Stop talking, or I’ll kill you.”

Damen turns to press a sloppy kiss to his lips, recoiling just in time to avoid the snapping of Laurent’s teeth — playful, but not without sharp edges. “You’re more than welcome to try again.”

 


End file.
